


Be My Savior

by jessebee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few things can kill an archangel.  Fewer still can save one.</p><p>(podfic available, see Notes below)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crisis

_Be my savior,_

_And I will be your downfall._

 

_ "Downfall" - Matchbox Twenty _

 

 

 

 

It happens faster than Sam can blink. They're holding their own when one of the demons raises its arm and hurls something at Castiel. In the next second Gabriel is _there_ , and in the melee Sam nearly misses the low _squelch_ that is the distinct sound of wood penetrating flesh. 

The cry that comes after it, though, nobody could miss.

Sam jerks around. "Gabriel?"

There's a slender spear of something wooden sticking a good six inches out of Gabriel's chest. Blood is welling from the wound, and Gabriel's face is chalk-white.

"Gabriel! What - ?"

Gabriel's lips move, but it's another second before any sound makes it out. "Binding. Binding – ah, _**Father**_."

Sam lunges, and he's barely in time as the archangel's knees buckle.

"Back!" Dean yells, and Sam half-drags Gabriel into the room behind them. Dean and Castiel cover them, Dean slamming the door and Castiel doing something to it just in time as it starts to shake, but holds. 

Then Cas is next to them, angel-quick, kneeling at Gabriel's other side even as Sam sits him down, supporting him. Blood soaks Gabriel's shirt with no signs of stopping – Gabriel's not healing. At all. The weapon is covered in symbols – Enochian, it looks like – and the point protrudes like an obscene thing from Gabriel's back, just to the inside of his shoulderblade. 

"Gabriel, why did you – " Castiel's eyes go wide. " _Brother_. That's – "

"'S coming back to me now, why I left – the whole war nonsense to you seraphs," Gabriel grits out, his breath coming short and harsh. " _Don't – touch – it_."

"The hell is that thing?" Dean asks, eyes narrow, as he leans in next to Castiel.

"Binding rod," Castiel says, low and more furious than Sam's ever heard him. Something in the room vibrates, and Sam doesn't think it's from the demons attacking outside. "Forbidden Adamical magic, anathema. It injures our grace and binds us into a vessel, and we can't be released until the rod is removed or the vessel – and the angel within – dies. But any other angel who touches the rod is also caught by the spell."

"Other angel," Sam says, catching the wording immediately. "But not a human. So _I_ can touch it."

"Yes," Castiel says. But he's hesitating.

"I hear a 'but' in there," Dean says.

"More than a – pretty face," Gabriel gets out, and Sam's mouth twitches, because apparently the Trickster will snark until he's – no. _No_ , damn it. At some point he'd taken Gabriel's hand and now the archangel's fingers clench until Sam's eyes water, but he's not letting go. He won't let go.

"The release is – violent," Castiel says.

Dean's eyes widen. "How v– "

"Doesn't matter," Sam snaps. "I'll do it." Because while they're getting the lesson, Gabriel's bleeding out right here in Sam's arms. Because with that chunk of wood in him he's practically human, and no human survives a chest shot like this for long. He's shaking against Sam's body, fighting to get air he shouldn't need into a lung that won't hold it, and he's – 

"No." It's faint but definite, and Sam looks down to see Gabriel's eyes open. His pupils are ringed with gold. "Castiel. Don't let him."

Sam's own breath catches. "Gabriel – "

" _No_."

"Think of water behind a dam," Castiel says, low and rough. "Too much, and water runs over the top. With this spell, there's no top to run over, so the pressure builds. If the dam cracks, even the slightest bit …."

"Boom." Dean exhales, eyes wide. 

Castiel nods. "Every bit of us, released all at once. The spell victim may survive, but –"

"You'd be – toast," Gabriel gasps. His eyes are closed again and there's blood everywhere, a growing puddle on the floor, soaking into Sam's jeans. "Not worth it."

And he means it, Sam realizes with horror. Gabriel won't let them save him, not at that cost.

Everything in Sam, every fiber of his being, rebels. There has got to be a way - 

He looks across at Dean, and a lifetime of reading his brother's face tells him that the whole Trickster thing notwithstanding, Dean is right there with him. Gabriel just _saved Castiel's life_ – no way will Dean let Gabriel go now without a fight. "Cas," Dean says, his hand on Castiel's arm. "Can you do something to protect us, Sam and me?"

"Castiel," Gabriel grates out.

But all Castiel's attention in that moment is on Dean, and Sam wonders for at least the two-hundredth time if Dean has any clue at all, if he ever actually _sees_ the way Castiel looks at him. "In some part, yes. I'm –"

"Castiel, no."

"– I'm willing. We must try."

"No." But there's no force, no breath, behind it.

"Shut _up_ ," Sam says, harsher than he intends. "You don't get a vote. Dean." Together they lay Gabriel down, the archangel's face twisting as the movement shifts the thing in his chest. He clutches at Sam but there's no force here either, now, the strength bled out of his grip like the blood from his body, and that's the final piece that slams it all home for Sam. Gabriel _is_ dying. 

And Sam's never even kissed him – 

Kissed…him.

Well, _crap_.

His track record for the timing of life-changing epiphanies isn't getting any better, is it?

What the fuck, then.

He leans into close and gives himself three seconds to just breathe, finding a trace of the sweetish smell that always seems to hang around Gabriel, and then presses his lips to Gabriel's forehead. When he lifts away, Gabriel's eyes are open again, glazed. Wet. His expression is four parts agony and one part Sam can't possibly be seeing right. "Sam." It's barely a whisper. "Don't. Please."

The "please" nearly breaks him. "We save people," Sam murmurs around the knot in his throat. "Family business."

"'m not – 'r business."

"Yes you are. And family, too. Look at it this way – it doesn't work? My pesky devil-vessel problem is solved." Gabriel's eyes fall shut and his mouth twitches, and Sam has no clue what the fuck-all he's feeling but it's making it hard to breathe. 

"Sam," Castiel says, and Sam looks to see Castiel braced and ready in some way Sam can't define, one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other held out to Sam. "Now. Quickly."

Sam locks gazes with his brother. Dean's eyes are wide, with that look that says he's read a lot more into the last thirty seconds than Sam ever wanted to tell him, but he doesn't hesitate. "Do it, bro."

Sam flattens one hand to Gabriel's chest, fingers spread around the rod, and grabs the rod itself with the other, hissing at the sting of the magic. Gabriel cries out soundlessly and something pushes, _chews_ at Sam's palm, and Sam grits his teeth and pulls, hard.

The thing resists, biting until Sam's grip goes slick with blood, but finally comes loose with an awful sucking sort of sound that's going to haunt Sam's dreams, he just knows it. He flings it away, fighting the urge to hork up every single thing he's ever eaten, then and there, and reaches out to Castiel. 

There's a split-second of hush, the demons breaking through the door notwithstanding, like existence is holding its breath. Then Gabriel's eyes snap open, and Sam's looking into the sun.

 _Lurch_ and he's somewhere else, Dean's arm against his back and Castiel's iron grip and something like warm electricity all around him and Sam gets in one breath, just one, before the world explodes.

It's ground zero, the center of a nuclear bomb. Light unthinkably bright, sonic boom flattening them to the ground. Shrieking roar more felt than heard and at the heart of it, a voice crying out words Sam doesn't understand. It's terrible and the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Sam holds on as hard as he can, Dean's arms around him and the force that he knows, somehow, is Castiel around them both. It goes on, buffeting and twisting and pounding, and on and on and on until he's a second away from screaming – 

And then, silence.

It's almost as painful at first, and breath Sam hadn't known he was holding punches out of him. There's an undertone hum in his ears and he works his jaw, trying to relieve the pressure as he eases away from the haven of Dean's shoulder and cracks his eyes open, to see – 

Iridescent gray and black that isn't black, shimmering blue and purple and the faintest hint of green, glowing like lit from within, a vast sheltering arc – wings. Holy fuck. _Castiel's wings –_

"Sammy?" 

Sam blinks and they're gone, only tan fabric covering the shoulders of the slender, rumpled man who's got his arms around them. "Yeah, Dean, 'm good." His throat's sore like he's been screaming. Hell, he's sore, period; every muscle feels wrenched, skin bruised and scratched and torn. The palm of his right hand hurts like hell. "You okay?"

"Feel like I've been tumble-dried, but yeah, I – Jesus _fuck_ ," Dean breathes, and Sam looks around.

Of the abandoned assembly plant they'd been fighting in, there is nothing. The room they'd been in, the demons, the entire building, nothing is left but a vast slab of concrete and a few pieces of rubble and beyond that, a space of seared earth. And perhaps twenty yards away from them – a body.

Sam's heart skips. 

"Dean," Castiel says hoarsely.

"Yeah, we're fine, you did it, Cas, you – " Dean cuts off as Castiel raises his head. Blood's running from his nose, from the _corners of his eyes_. "Cas. _Shit_."

"You…and Sam. Good."

"Cas!" Dean grabs him as Castiel's eyes roll up and he slumps backward like someone cut his strings.

Something in Sam's chest feels like it's tearing; he likes Castiel, more than likes, but – "Dean," Sam says urgently, and points.

His brother's eyes narrow, but he nods. "Go."

Sam staggers to his feet and moves, his legs – his whole body – protesting every step of the way.

Gabriel is sprawled on his back, still as death. The puddle of blood beneath him is still wet, his shirt still ripped and sodden, his flesh still torn where Sam touches it, his own blood dripping down to add to the mess.

Sam presses two shaking fingers beneath Gabriel's sharp chin, leaving red prints, searching for a pulse. He feels nothing. 

Nothing.

No. _No_ , it can't end like this, it fucking well can't, not after –

– something _hums_ , trembling the concrete under his knees –

– Dean's panicked shout – " _SAM_! Shut your eyes, shut – " _your eyes, shut them, Sam, please, if there was ever any chance of you hearing me,_ _ **hear me now**_ _–_

– curling down over Gabriel if he could protect – 

– blinding light, scorching even through eyes clenched shut, beating against his skin, _under_ his skin, pouring _through_ him, vast and fierce and electric and warm, so warm, like a lover's touch – 

Gone.

Sam opens his eyes and levers himself up, gasping, blinking against the spots, staring down, hoping – 

The body beside him comes alive with a lurch, back arching as air is dragged in, eyes snapping open, and Sam sees hazel and a shimmering ring of gold. 

Sam catches him as he sits up abruptly, one hand slapping to his chest where the rod had been and then pulling it away again to stare at the blood.

"Gabriel?" Sam breathes.

"It worked," Gabriel says hoarsely. "Dear sweet Father, it _worked_." He looks at Sam, and the gold isn't fading but there's something else there too, something utterly astonished. Overjoyed. "And you're alive. You incredible _idiot_." He reaches over and touches his bloody fingers to Sam's face. That electricity tingles through Sam again, running through his veins like a drug, and Gabriel's looking at him like he's going to punch him or kiss him. "You're all still –" He breaks off, turns. "Castiel."

Sam starts as the rest of the world comes back. He's dizzy, like he's mainlined five shots of high-test scotch. "Yeah, he did it, kept us in one piece, but it took it out of him, he's –"

"So weak I can barely feel him." Gabriel's mouth thins. "We need to be out of here yesterday."

Sam blinks. "Okay, but the demons are –"

"Sam, I just angelled out for the first time in more than a thousand years and sent up a 'here I am!' flare the size of fucking _Montana_. Anything with eyes will have seen it. We are gone. _Now_."

The world blurs away.


	2. Refuge

#

 

Sam walks slowly and a bit painfully down to the soda machine he'd found, in a little alcove at the end of the hall and down a few steps. The hotel is five states distant from the atomized assembly plant and at least six cuts above their normal flops and he'll bet anything these are the main reasons Gabriel dropped them here – this isn't the type of place anybody'd _ever_ look for the Winchester boys at. There's even a parking garage hiding the Impala, which had gone a long way towards calming Dean's irritation about unscheduled travel via AngelAir. 

Trouble is, Gabriel's not around to ask, and hasn't been since he whammied them here more than three hours ago.

Sam leans wearily against the wall as he counts out dimes and nickels – quarters are for laundry – when there's a soft click and he's abruptly holding a can of diet Coke, very cold.

"Buy you a drink?"

Sam jerks around. 

Gabriel leans against the stairwell wall, two steps up, arms folded across his chest. He's disheveled and tired-looking and altogether the best thing Sam's seen in forever. Sam doesn't think; he just moves. He crosses the tiny alcove in three steps and wraps his arms around Gabriel's waist, pulling him into a hug.

Gabriel's stone-still in Sam's embrace and it occurs to Sam, belatedly, that maybe this isn't the smartest thing he could have done. But then Gabriel breathes in and sighs and softens into something human, and his arms come around Sam's shoulders, and something in Sam that's been wound tight for the last three hours relaxes with a thump. The steps have taken care of the difference in their heights for the moment, and Sam lays his forehead against Gabriel's shoulder. "Hi."

"Hi there," Gabriel says quietly. His arms tighten. "Didn't miss me or anything, did you?" he asks after a minute or two. His breath is tingly-warm against Sam's ear.

"Not a bit." Sam just breathes, smelling ozone and the copper tang of blood and beneath those, faintly, something like mint and chocolate. He wants to dig his fingers into Gabriel's jacket and not let go. He feels weirdly – whole, like something missing has slotted into place. "Are you okay?"

Gabriel huffs. "Archangel, Sam. We're pretty hardy." His hands shift and push, gently, and Sam lets himself be moved away. Dammit. "Castiel?"

Up close, the sharp lines of Gabriel's face, normally so animated, remind Sam more of Castiel now, as if Gabriel doesn't quite have the energy to bother with little stuff like human expressions. And his eyes still seem to have a faint glow.

"I'm not sure. His body's breathing, he's stopped bleeding, but he hasn't really come around since you dropped us off. Thanks for all this, by the way," Sam says, and Gabriel snorts again.

"If you think I'd put my brother in one of your usual charming fleabag rattraps, you're out of your mind."

"You've put him worse places," springs to Sam's mouth unbidden, remembering the fun and frolic of their TV-Land adventures.

Gabriel _winces_. Tiny, but there. Fuck. Sam sighs. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did," Gabriel says flatly. "So, show me."

Why not just – yeah. Pretty carved rib bone camouflage, check. "This way," Sam says, and starts up the steps. 

Gabriel comes with him, and stumbles at the top. 

"Whoa." Sam grabs his shoulder.

Gabriel straightens and shakes him off. "Long flight. Let's go."

 

#

 

Dean's not in the suite's main room when Sam opens the door, but he's there not ten seconds later. "Finally," he growls, glaring at Gabriel. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Making sure nothing could follow me and find your stupid, vessel-licious asses, of course." Gabriel pushes past him, heading unerringly for the room Castiel is in.

Sam had helped Dean clean Castiel up a bit before they'd laid him down on the bed, but it had been rather like dealing with a floppy, sleeping five-year-old, writ large. Or so Dean had said, and he would know. Gabriel sits on the edge of the bed, making no comment on Castiel stripped down to undershirt and trousers, and lays his hand on his brother's forehead.

Dean's a tense mess next to Sam where they stand watching from the doorway, jaw clenched hard enough that he'll crack teeth if he's not careful. Nothing Sam can do will help at this point, and Sam knows it. But Dean leans toward him, just a little, and that will have to be enough.

"Castiel," Gabriel says softly, followed by a string of words Sam can't identify, but the hair stands on the back of his neck. The room feels abruptly full, as though something vast has unfolded, a shadow against the wall – and Castiel blinks.

Dean makes a tight little sound.

"Castiel," Gabriel says again. Castiel murmurs something this time, and Gabriel replies, still in that language Sam doesn't know. Although, maybe, if he – 

Dean's next to the bed like he's levitated there. "Cas?" he says roughly. That does the trick, it seems, because Castiel's eyes actually open this time. The low sigh he gives has Dean's name mixed into it, and Dean leans close.

Gabriel climbs to his feet with obvious effort and walks to the doorway, gathering Sam through it with a motion. In the main room, Gabriel drops onto the couch with a grunt. Sam eyes him a moment, then makes a detour into the kitchen, abandoning his unopened soda on the counter. When he rejoins Gabriel, he presses a bottle of cold water into the archangel's hand. Gabriel looks at it a moment like he's never seen one before, then twists off the top and downs most of it in one go.

Sam's earlier assessment of "tired-looking" was optimistic because frankly, Gabriel looks like seven different kinds of hell. He's never even seen the guy out of breath before because you know, archangel and all that, but right now Gabriel looks like Sam feels, and that's saying something. Sam wants to gather him in again, hold him, wants to…wants. 

But…"What did you do?" is all he asks, quietly, sitting sideways on the couch with one leg beneath him and wincing as his thigh muscles protest the maneuver.

"Sam?" Gabriel is watching him.

"'S fine," Sam says. "Just sore."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "I don't think so."

"Okay, really damn sore, and a little chewed here and there. Nothing that won't heal. What did you do to Cas?" Sam asks again.

Gabriel looks like he'd like to badger Sam into coughing up the whole truth, but doesn't have the energy. "Nothing much. Called him."

"Called him?"

"Back from where he was. Went walking the dog and got a little lost, that's all. Be his ball of yarn." Gabriel's eyes have closed.

"That – didn't actually make a lot of sense."

"Sure it did."

"Did you heal him? The vessel, I mean?" Because he's got a hunch, Sam does.

Gabriel's shoulders shift. "Little nudge."

Little nudge, Sam's ass. "Thanks."

Gabriel's chest rises, then falls as he pushes air out in another long, slow sigh. "I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing here. I should be anywhere _but_ here, hanging around with you insane people. Why the hells am I here?"

Sam's gut twists, but he just shrugs. "'Cause we're entertaining, and I made Dean promise to share the pie?"

Gabriel opens his eyes and looks at Sam, and then, for the first time that Sam remembers, he laughs. Really laughs – not the Trickster's mocking chuckle, but full-out, honest mirth. 

Sam likes it. A lot.

Gabriel winds down after a minute and lays his head against the cushioned couch back, eyes closing again. "Yeah, that must be it. Makes as much sense as anything else to do with you Winchesters."

Sam looks at him, at the sharp profile and the mess of his chestnut hair. The clothes that still carry rips and the smell of blood. "Another bed in the other room," Sam says.

"I don't sleep," Gabriel shoots back, or tries to. But the words sound a little slurred.

That settles it for Sam. "Yeah, I know you don't. C'mon, it's not far," he says, putting a hand on Gabriel's arm. "Otherwise Dean'll just be sitting on you when he wants to watch tv, and then I'll have to listen to the bitching and that won't end well for anybody."

Gabriel's mouth quirks. "So you're telling me to go lay down for purely selfish and sadly non-erotic reasons."

Something catches, hard, in Sam's chest. Could it really…? "Half right," he manages. "Selfish now. We can discuss 'erotic' later, when we can both see straight." Jesus Christ but he's tired, did he _really_ just say that?

Gabriel's eyes snap back open and he stares, mouth dropping open. Sam can only look back and hope he hasn't made one of the more monumental mistakes of his life. That faint gold glow still lingers in Gabriel's eyes and his arm is warm beneath Sam's hand and Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Sam has just kinda-sorta propositioned an _archangel_.

An archangel whose mouth, after an endless moment, curves up into a slow, genuine smile. "Long as I know where I stand."

The rush of relief and joy and whatever the fuck else has Sam dizzy. Gabriel's lips look chapped and pink and they pull Sam in like a magnet. "You're sitting, actually," he murmurs, barely aware of what he's saying as he leans helplessly closer.

Gabriel isn't moving away.

"Was all a plan, because you're so damn tall." 

Gabriel's voice is soft and a little rough, and Sam's close enough now to feel the warmth of the words brush against his own lips. "Uh-huh," he breathes, and closes the gap.

Gabriel's mouth is soft, too, soft and warm and dry, and Sam could possibly do this forever. He's lightheaded and tingly, something like electricity washing through him as Gabriel kisses him back, touch and retreat and touch again. Warm and dry turns warm and gently wet as lips part and tongues meet. It's nothing like Sam imagined, not the hot wild rush but a slow, almost tentative sweetness that makes something ache in his chest. 

When Sam finally pulls back far enough to focus, Gabriel's eyes are nearly closed. His mouth is wet and kissed-pink and curved in a small smile, but every other line in his face screams of fatigue. "C'mon, you need to lie down," Sam whispers. 

The kissed-pink mouth moues into a pout. "Alone?" Gabriel peers at Sam from under his lashes and Sam wants to giggle, it's so blatantly over the top. Which tells him how exhausted he truly is, because Sam Winchester does not giggle.

"Nope," he says, because really, it's not a decision. "Because I'm really fucking tired too, and there's only that one other bed."

"So, purely selfish reasons, then," Gabriel concludes as he watches Sam heave himself off the couch.

Gabriel could probably just snap himself into the bedroom, but for some reason he lets Sam catch his hand and haul him to his feet. "Purely, entirely selfish," Sam agrees.

#

 

He's not sure what wakes him; it's almost like a little…tickle? A breath of a breath of a nudge, maybe, at the back of his mind. He's comfortable – the sheets are like a zillion threadcount and the pillows are fluffy and the mattress is beyond fantastic – but still there's something…ah. The long roll of thunder, and the patter of rain against glass. Sam smiles. Just a thunderstorm. Or…wait.

He rolls over. Lightning flashes, strobing into the room, illuminating an enormous set of…wings.

The stark kiss of shock nails him to the bed, but he must have gasped anyway, because the figure at the window shifts and it's just a man now, human-shaped, distinctive profile lit by the streetlight leaking in. "Thought your nerves were better than that," Gabriel says.

Gabriel. He'd gone to bed with Gabriel. He'd gone to sleep with Gabriel _in his arms_.

So why is Gabriel no longer in them?

Cold trickles down Sam's spine. "My – nerves are just fine, thanks."

Gabriel's soft snort is eloquent enough. Sam wills his racing heart to calm and decides not to mention what he thinks he just saw. But the adrenaline racing through his system pretty much guarantees that he's not going back to sleep soon. 

Sam props up on an elbow and watches, both the storm and the being in front of the window. Thunder rolls. Pretty close, then. 

Gabriel doesn't move, and Sam watches the shape of him. A narrow waist that Sam has now touched, and solid shoulders nearly as broad as Dean's, for all their difference in heights. Gabriel is loose shirts and comfort these days, but Sam remembers their first encounter perfectly, and how well the janitor's workshirt and plain pants had fit him. Right now he's in the boxers and sleeveless undershirt that he'd let Sam undress him to before they'd both collapsed into the bed, and neither leaves much to the imagination. 

Even tired enough to drop, Sam has a very vivid imagination.

Lightning flashes again and this time the thunder cracks loud and immediate, practically shivering the building. Gabriel doesn't even twitch, but Sam sucks in air in a soundless whistle. "Right on top of us now," he says. And pauses as an awful thought occurs. "Is this…."

"Natural?" Gabriel finishes. "Yeah. Mostly."

"Mostly." That's not precisely comforting.

Gabriel lays a hand against the glass. "The storm is just atmospheric, but someone could be making use of it, catching a ride. Don't sense anything, but…." His hand fists. _I'm tired_. He doesn't say that, but Sam hears it all the same.

 _Then come lay back down, idiot_ , Sam doesn't say.

Gabriel turns his head halfway, so Sam's got his profile again. "Nothing for you to lose beauty sleep over," he finishes. As if on cue, the light show resumes and the artillery barrage pounds, almost immediate. And again, there are – wings.

"Uhm, yeah, no," Sam says on a tight exhale. "Not sleeping through that." Gabriel turns to look full at him, now, eyebrows tight, and maybe it's the weird half-light, but – "Speaking of beauty sleep, come back to bed."

Gabriel's mouth purses. "I told you –"

"Gabriel, you look like shit."

Both of Gabriel's eyebrows go up. "Wow. That line work well for you?"

"Injures the grace, Cas said." Sam's not even really sure why he's pushing this. All right, yes, that's a damn lie, he does know. "Even for somebody like you, that's got to sting. Are we safe here?"

"For a reasonable definition of the word 'safe,' yes," Gabriel says slowly.

"Well then." Sam gestures at the empty side of the bed. Because Gabriel wants to leave, his apparent hots for Sam's body notwithstanding; Sam just knows it. Wants to run, click away somewhere and re-bury himself in the Trickster he's been for centuries and if he does, something in Sam is going to shred into achy little pieces, small as when Jess died. Possibly smaller. 

Wow, he's not admitting that to anybody, ever.

Gabriel's staring at him like the archangel is picking Sam apart with his brain, and possibly he is. Whatever he sees, though, is apparently enough. He comes back over to the bed and flops down with all the innate grace of a cranky six-year-old, and heaves an enormous sigh. "Are you happy _now_?"

"Ecstatic," Sam says, in the driest tone he owns.

Gabriel looks at him sharply. Sam keeps his face perfectly straight. It doesn't even take a minute before Gabriel snorts and then starts to laugh, low and warm, much as he had earlier. Sam likes the sound now just as much. There has to be some way….

Because Gabriel _does_ want him, Sam knows this now. Is there somehow, some way of a ghost of a chance that Sam could – keep this?

The storm still rattles at the window but inside, Gabriel has wound down. He's lying starfished on the bed, the curled fingers of one hand brushing against Sam's arm. He's also taking up more room than should be possible, and Sam's glad it's a king mattress. Gabriel's eyes are closed, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth. 

God, Sam really, really wants to kiss him again.

Like he'd heard that, Gabriel opens his eyes and looks up at Sam, his expression shifting from mirth to something more intent. He reaches up and trails fingers behind Sam's ear and there's that electricity again, a warm tingle under Sam's skin. Sam wants, wants – he turns his head and kisses the inside of Gabriel's wrist.

"Intent" doesn't do justice to the look now when Sam meets Gabriel's eyes again, and if this is how Castiel looks at Dean all the time, Sam has no clue how his brother doesn't just burst in flames under it. Gabriel's fingers slide into Sam's hair and pull, and there's no part of Sam that thinks of resisting.

Warm and wet and sweeter this time, like the candy Gabriel is constantly eating. Morning – or midnight or whatever the hell time it is – breath apparently isn't a problem for angels and if Sam's mouth isn't fresh, Gabriel evidently doesn't mind. Gabriel licks just inside, tongue on the tender underside of Sam's lip, and Sam invites him right on in, meeting him. Gabriel steals Sam's breath and gives it back again, infused with something that makes Sam dizzy. Sam makes a little sound in his chest and presses a little harder, chasing the taste. Gabriel makes a sound too, a soft little half-groan that makes the hair on Sam's neck stand up and God, he wants to hear that sound again. He wants to make Gabriel make that sound again. 

Gabriel's hand tightens around Sam's skull and he pulls, pressing closer, and Sam puts his right hand down hard on the mattress for balance. And jerks and swears softly as pain shoots up his arm.

"Not quite the reaction I was going for," Gabriel murmurs, and Sam half-chuckles. 

"S'not bad. Just my hand, and it'll heal." Sam kisses the corner of Gabriel's mouth.

"Your hand?"

"Mhm, when I pulled the rod. Damn thing bit me a little before I got it out," Sam mutters, more interesting in touring the edge of Gabriel's jaw than in conversation.

Gabriel freezes. " _Bit_ you?"

Well, shit. Why can't he ever keep his mouth shut? "Just a little," he sighs, and doesn't bother trying to resist as Gabriel pushes him back. A soft click and there's light in the room, dim but still enough to make Sam squint as Gabriel sits up and grabs his hand. "Wasn't worth mentioning."

"You got bitten by _Adamical curse magic_ and you didn't think it was _worth mentioning_?" 

Man, nobody did sarcasm like an angel of the Lord. Sam rolls his eyes. "Like you said – Adamical curse. Really damn specific, like they all are, and aimed at you guys, not us humans. There was nothing it could do to me except chew a bit."

Gabriel is holding Sam's hand palm up, staring at the barely-closed gashes. "And make you bleed, Sam. In a room full of binding magic."

Well, _shit_.

Gabriel looks up and his eyes are hard. "What happened to the rod?"

Sam refuses to swallow. "Toast. Incinerated with the rest of the place when you did your fiery angel act."

"Where else did you bleed?"

His stomach twists. "On you," Sam whispers, and Gabriel's eyes close. "On you, before you came back. And you went _through_ me when you did, and I _heard_ you, didn't I? Telling me to shut my eyes…" Blood and power and magic – "Fuck, Gabriel, what did you do?"

Gabriel's eyes snap open, and Sam's pinned with that bright amber gaze. " _We_ , Sam. Your blood, my grace. Takes two to tango, but this is a whole new dance step ain't nobody ever tried before." He lets go of Sam's hand.

Sam looks down at his own hand and then back at Gabriel. He opens his mouth – and stops dead as something – happens. Something rings in his head like a musical chime, soft and pure, a clean, beautiful, trumpet-like sound that vibrates through him and doesn't so much fade away as settle into his bones, an echoing hum. It feels – God, it feels _wonderful_. "What the hell?" he manages, staring at Gabriel. "Did you –"

Gabriel nods. "You heard that." His mouth twists. "Dandy. Don't know how I didn't – no, I know how I didn't sense it, I'm still scrambled up like a three-egg omelet. Congratulations, Sam – we're hitched. You're bonded to an archangel."

Sam just gapes, like somebody's pushed the "pause" button on his brain. He knows his mouth is moving, but it's a minute before anything comes out. "W-what?! _Bonded_?! How the hell –"

Gabriel smirks, and it's sharp and bitter. " _I don't know_ , didn't I just say that? No angel's bonded a human since Enoch and sure the fuck not by _accident_. Hells, we don't bond _each other_ anymore." The last words are bitten off and his eyes close, the Trickster's mocking smile twisting his lips. _/And the joke's on me this time, isn't it?/_

Did Sam just hear – what the _fuck_? "Gabriel –"

"Oh, don't worry, your virtue's safe and all that, I won't – yeah. You know what? Some space'd be good."

" _Gabriel!_ " 

But there's a sound like the rustle of giant wings and a push of air, and Sam's the only one on the bed. Something pulls in his chest, pulls, stretches – and Sam _grabs_ with no clue how he's doing it and holds on tight. Fuck all if he knows what's going on yet, but one thing he _is_ sure of – he doesn't want to lose this. / _Don't do this. God, Gabriel,_ _ **don't do this**_ _. Wait, please, just – wait./_

And the pull – stops. The chime echo is fainter, but it's still there.

Sam blows out a long, hard breath and sits up, pulls his knees up and lays his arms across them and puts his head down. He's got a new ache in his chest, and this one's not physical. "Jesus _fucking_ hell."

 

#


	3. Revelation

#

 

Dean's wedged into the corner of the couch in the main room, television on, when Sam comes out, unable to stand the solitude. It's still raining, and what light leaks through the mostly closed curtains is storm-gray. Might be day or night; in weather like this, it doesn't matter.

 

Dean's eyebrows draw together as Sam walks over and slumps down next to him. "So. How's…." He tilts his chin toward the bedroom.

 

"I…don't know." And hey, that's not even a lie, really. Sam stares at the screen without really seeing it. He can almost feel the heat of his brother's familiar green-eyed gaze against his cheekbone. "I think…this whole thing…messed him up a bit."

 

Dean snorts, quietly. They won't ever be best buds, and the day Dean admits to actual, real live concern for Gabriel will probably be the day Sam buries him – again – but Sam's pretty sure Dean's come around to not detesting the archangel, if only for Castiel's sake. "Yeah, well, dying messes you up, that I can say for sure." He looks narrowly at Sam. "Dude, you sure you should be up? You look a little rough."

 

Sam's about got his mouth open to express shock and mock horror at Dean's concern – because that's what they do, after all – when he's brought up short by a soft, deep, gravelly voice. "You should both of you rest. You've been through much."

 

"Cas!" 

 

Dean is up and moving toward Castiel, who stands, or rather leans, in the bedroom doorway, still clad only in undershirt and the eternal black trousers. "Dude, you should definitely not be up."

 

"I'm fine, Dean." But the fact that he hasn't mojoed his clothes back to the usual has got to be saying something. "You and Sam should rest, though."

 

Dean, typically, ignores that. "C'mon, sit down." He gets Castiel settled on the couch next to Sam and then perches himself on the coffee table, right in front of them. This close, Sam sees the strain beneath the angel's borrowed flesh, seeping through in paler than usual skin and the bruised patches under his eyes.

 

"Thanks, Cas," Sam says, serious.

 

Castiel looks at him, sober and intent, and Sam sees the moment Castiel must see it, blue eyes widening, sees that something inside Sam is different. _/Don't say anything yet, Cas,/_ Sam thinks at him, urgently, as hard as he can. _/Not yet./_

 

Castiel blinks. "Thank you, Sam, for being willing to try, and for trusting me," is what he says, instead, and Sam tries not to sigh in relief. "Both of you. I desperately wished not to lose another brother, but there was no guarantee it would work."

 

"But that'd been done before, right?" Dean's eyebrows draw together. "I mean, that's how you knew for sure that Sam could touch the thing."

 

"The last time I saw a binding rod such as that, was during the purge of the Nephilim," Castiel says softly, wearily, letting go of the words as if they might return to bite him. "It's a weapon they created. At that time, humans and the Host were not exactly – allies, even the humans who wanted no part of the Children of Angels. None of the humans who – assisted – members of the Host thus injured survived the process, nor did most of the victims."

 

Castiel's eyes hold a shit-ton of things he carefully isn't saying, and Sam's stomach twists. "Oh."

 

Dean isn't so careful. "Wait. Wasn't Gabriel involved in all that?" he asks, his face darkening.

 

"Gabriel was the one ordered by our Father to seed their destruction. It –" Castiel takes a breath and looks down at his hands. "Despite their actions, it troubled him, greatly, to do so."

 

The look on Dean's face says that he's thinking, hard. Sam's thinking too, but probably not about quite the same thing. "Cas," he says softly, and the angel looks back at him. "Enoch talks about what happened to the Grigori, and the Nephilim. But what about the humans? The mothers?"

 

"The bonded?" And there's not a shred of doubt in Sam's mind that Castiel is using that term very, very deliberately. "To bond with a human was – unusual, but not in and of itself forbidden. The problem came with the bearing of children."

 

Dean's eyes narrow and Sam wants to wince, because – "What, we were good enough to screw but not to have little angel babies?"

 

The look Castiel turns on Dean now could peel paint. "It _corrupted_ them. Human flesh was not designed to be able to endure having grace as part of its very fiber, not like that. It distorted them, and drove them to great and terrible things. And then it drove them mad. When it drove them finally to challenge Heaven, God said 'No more.'"

 

Castiel leans his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes, and he looks, for the first time in a long time, like the ancient, unknowable being that he is. "That was the second war."

 

Dean swallows. "Shit. Cas, I –"

 

"Dean." Castiel doesn't move. "Please don't speak anymore."

 

Sam grimaces. Just Dean being Dean, but sometimes his timing really sucks.

 

Dean winces and looks away. Then his shoulders go back and he looks at his watch, and shoots to his feet.

 

"Dean?" Sam questions as his brother grabs his leather coat. He's afraid he knows the answer.

 

He does. "Bar open somewhere, Sammy," Dean says with false cheer. "Could use some cash." And he's gone, the door clicking closed behind him.

 

"Great," Sam mutters.

 

"Sam." Sam blinks, and finds Castiel looking straight at him. "What happened?"

 

Sam doesn't bother prevaricating, there's no point. "I don't know. Gabriel thought it was an accident, that somehow because I was bleeding and he was – angelling out and the magic from the rod – it all came together and –"

 

"Bonded you, yes. But it takes more than that. Where is Gabriel now?" Castiel asks.

 

"I don't _know_ ," Sam says again, and rubs at his chest. "He said something stupid about my 'virtue' and needing space and…." He aches and he sounds like a giant girl and he's approaching miserable and he _doesn't like it_ , not one damn bit.

 

Castiel's eyes widen, and he sits up and leans in. "Sam. Listen. What you described – an accident, yes, and there Gabriel would know better than I. But this I do know – it takes more than circumstance to complete a bonding, even with a human. _Particularly_ with a human. It takes _love_. It takes _intent_ – from _both_ parties. Do you understand?"

 

Sam stares, and his jaw drops as it clicks. "You're saying that even with the magic and everything, this still couldn't have happened – unless we _both_ wanted it."

 

Castiel nods, a smile twitching at his mouth. "Yes. Gabriel is extremely powerful, but I don't think even he could change something so fundamental to our very nature."

 

Sam reels a little bit. He's only just discovered that he _likes_ Gabriel enough to sleep with him, hasn't he? Where the heck did the "death do us part" part come in? And Gabriel feels it too? "Then why would he say that? Make it seem like this is some fuck-up he doesn't want?"

 

"He's _injured_ , Sam. No matter how he looks to you, a strike like that is a serious injury to Gabriel himself, to his grace; that won't heal quickly, like the body will." Castiel tilts his head. "Aren't humans known for doing, saying stupid things when they're in pain?"

 

Sam snorts. "We do stupid things all the time, but pain can make it worse, that's for sure."

 

"You have to find him, Sam. He will heal better if he's closer to you."

 

"Can't you – I don't know, sense him or something, tell me where he is?"

 

Castiel raises one eyebrow, and Sam'd bet a twenty that he learned that from Dean. "Gabriel has hidden from the entire Host for millennia. That situation has not changed. But you should be able to find him."

 

"How?"

 

Castiel's smile looks sad. "Bonding is – discouraged among the Host, now. I've never been bonded, to anyone, so I can't tell you that. But aren't you feeling him, even now?" And it's only now, as Castiel reaches over and touches the back of Sam's hand, that Sam realizes that he's still massaging at the spot where he aches. And that it's roughly the same spot where the rod had torn into Gabriel's chest.

 

Sam blinks. Now that he's thinking about it, he feels the chime echo as well, already very much a part of him. He tries to concentrate on it, and damn, that feels good, but it's not doing what he wants, needs it too. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax, instead, and – oh. Maybe he feels – a pull? No, not a pull exactly, but maybe a direction? Like seeing faint stars more clearly in the corners of his eyes, rather than looking directly at them.

 

"Yeah," Sam says. "I feel him."

 

 

#

 


	4. Resolution

#

 

Sam corners his flown archangel – if you can actually corner an archangel – on one of the balconies of the hotel's top floor penthouse. The French doors are flung wide open and the rain is blowing in, soaking the carpet for at least five feet.

 

Gabriel is outside, leaning on the railing, and the water runs down his body. 

 

"Gabriel."

 

The line of Gabriel's back tightens. "You never learned the fine art of subtle hints, did you? What part of the concept of 'space' escaped your little human brain? Fine, you found me. Run along now."

 

So this is how it's gonna play? He can do this. Sam snorts. "Subtle? That's rich, coming from you." Sam's half-soaked just from standing near the doorway; might as well step outside and do it right. "Gabriel, you're drenched."

 

"Well, give the kid a prize."

 

"What the hell are you doing?"

 

"Like that's any the hell of your business."

 

"You _are_ the hell my business, I told you that."

 

Gabriel tips his head back and laughs into the storm, and it's an awful sound. "Am I, now." He turns sideways to face Sam and leans a casual elbow on the railing, and then –

 

Then there are wings. 

 

Sam gasps and takes a step back despite himself as they unfurl and mantle, much too big for the space and for the body they surround. No half-seen silhouette this time but real as the floor Sam's standing on, giant, graceful curves of copper banded in gold at the lower edges. They glitter and flow in the breeze, more like things mineral than animal, feathers crafted of jewels and wire and light.

 

Gabriel watches, superior and mocking, everything Sam hates about the Trickster rolled up in his smile. "I'm an _archangel_ , Samuel. Your Stanford-sized brain's not a hundredth of what you'd need to comprehend what I am. I am literally older than dirt, I saw the _creation of this planet_. Your lifespan's not even a goldfish's worth next to mine, but somehow you think I'm your business." 

 

Oh, yes, Sam knows this game, and it's one he's not going to lose. In fact, armed now with what Castiel has told him, he's not even going to waste precious time playing. With no real clue how he's doing it, he reaches for the thing, the – bond – stretched between them, takes hold, and _pulls_.

 

Gabriel's eyes go wide and he gasps, face going white and supercilious expression falling away like the rain has washed it, and grabs for the railing with both hands. 

 

 _Not_ the reaction Sam is expecting. 

 

He lunges forward and gets an arm around Gabriel's waist and winds up on the floor with his arms full of archangel for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time with bonus wings. But thankfully a lot less blood, and Sam leans them both against the railing. 

 

He aches, all over, every whiplashed muscle bitching about the move he just made and reminding him that Gabriel's not the only one who got banged up. But Gabriel's _trembling_ , just a little, and Sam murmurs wordless apologies into wet hair as the rain pounds down on them both. "So, yeah," he says after a few minutes. "I think you're my business."

 

Gabriel shakes his head. "It's not real, Sam," he says wearily, all mockery gone. "It's just the bond making you think it is. You don't really want this."

 

Okay, now it's official – Sam's pissed. "You know," he says conversationally, through gritted teeth, "I have never been too good with people telling me what I want, or what I think, or what I am."

 

"Sam –"

 

"You can read my mind; in fact, I'll bet it's even easier now." He cups Gabriel's chin and tilts it up. "So read me, and then tell me if I want this." And drags his moment of epiphany front and center and shoves it forward.

 

He knows the instant Gabriel gets it. Amber eyes go wide again; Gabriel's breath catches hard. 

 

And a dam somewhere breaks, and Sam's flooded with pain and regret and relief and love. God, _so much love_ , as deep and broad and fierce as the ocean, and Sam can barely breathe around it.

 

"Oh," Gabriel whispers, and he reaches up and touches Sam's cheekbone. His eyes look damp, but it's probably just the rain.

 

"Yeah, oh," Sam manages to whisper back, and kisses him softly. "Idiot."

 

Gabriel digs his fingers into Sam's dripping hair and kisses him back, hard. Something like desperation laces it and Sam lets it bend him, lets Gabriel take what he needs from the touch and tries to push love and reassurance back through the bond. The hum in Sam's bones broadens, turning from an echo to a murmur like a cheerful brook, brightening and soothing his soul. 

 

Gabriel finally ends the kiss about the time Sam decides that breathing is overrated, and fits himself against Sam with a sigh, nose against Sam's throat. Contentment and weariness/pain flow off of him in roughly equal measure, and Sam tightens his embrace. Gabriel's left wing arcs, then settles as Gabriel tucks it in over them like a blanket. Water beads and runs off the feathers in a way that's rather hypnotizing, and tiny rainbows glint and fracture and reform. "Gabriel?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Why didn't you just pick that out of my mind earlier tonight?"

 

Gabriel sighs again. "Human minds are usually stupidly easy to read, but Castiel's little art project with your ribs makes yours a lot fuzzier than most."

 

Sam grins. "Can you hear me now?"

 

"Leave the off-the-cuff humorous remarks to the professionals, please. Plus, angels have something of a – protocol, you could say, for it. The bond gave you that, but I didn't realize it, I was too…."

 

"Three-egg omelet?"

 

"'Whipped and scrambled' is probably closer," Gabriel admits. His hand tightens in Sam's shirt. "I fucking _hurt_ , frankly, and I don't like it." His tone is petulant and Sam has to smile again.

 

"First step to fixing that? Is to get in out of the rain."

 

#

 

Gabriel, Sam finds out, pretty much half-owns the place; the penthouse is one of his getaways. They end up in the ginormous master bed, where Gabriel strips them both naked, arranges Sam to his satisfaction and proceeds to lay on him, as close as possible. He's put the wings back wherever it is that he keeps them, which is a shame, even if they would take up most of the room. 

 

He shivers, though, a little fly-bitten ruffle of skin, when Sam runs a hand just so between his shoulderblades. Gabriel's own hand drifts up and down Sam's bare chest in a languid rhythm, and Sam's halfway between aroused and asleep when he realizes. "Dean."

 

"Castiel knows where we are," Gabriel mutters.

 

Sam imagines the conversation pending with his brother and scrunches his face up. "He's not going to be happy."

 

"And that would be new – how?" Sam pokes him on the back of his head, and Gabriel bats lazily at Sam's hand. "He'll have to get over it, because you're mine now." Said simply and imperiously and damn, that warms Sam in new and scary ways.

 

Sam laughs into soft chestnut hair. "Possessive much?" And he's laughing but he's kinda not, too, because really, him? Why him? Dark, tainted, the devil literally on his heels, none of which makes for much possibility of happily ever after. 

 

"Stop that," Gabriel says, and punctuates it with a hard flick of fingers against Sam's chest. 

 

"Ow."

 

"Why not you? Yes, you're tainted, but you didn't ask for it. You've made some pretty stupid moves since then, but you've done the wrong things for the right reasons. And you found your way back. You _want_ to do good, Sam. I've known that since before I trapped you and Dean in 'Groundhog Day.'" He shifts, fingers rubbing gently at the spot he'd just thumped. "You – might as well ask, why with me?"

 

Gabriel's tone – not regret, but rather an almost unfathomable sadness – has Sam's arms tightening almost before he's aware he's doing it. "Yeah, okay, you're not perfect either," he murmurs. "But I get it now, what you were trying to do, in Broward County, even if your delivery pretty much sucked. So – why _not_ you?"

 

Gabriel relaxes. "So there you have it." The tone is flip, but what Sam is feeling through the bond is anything but. "And possessive _always_. I don't share what's mine."

 

A thread of unease creeps into Sam's contentment again. "Dean's my brother. That's not going to change."

 

Gabriel shifts again, hitching up until he can look Sam in the eyes. "Of course not. But _he's_ gotta understand that _I'm_ here now."

 

"He will. Eventually." And Sam wishes he was quite as sure of that as he – 

 

Gabriel's face pinches, just a little. 

 

"What?" 

 

But then he feels it, Gabriel's body protesting the move it just made, the ache only the physical manifestation of a much deeper pain. Sam raises his hand and lays it gently against the now-unbroken skin. Gabriel makes no sound, but his face pinches again and he leans into Sam's hand.

 

Sam gets him down on his side on the bed and then pulls him close. "What can I do?" he asks quietly.

 

"Nothing," Gabriel says, muffled, because he's buried his face against Sam's throat. Then - / _You're here. You – love me. That helps, as much as anything will./_

 

Gabriel's mental voice is something like his physical one but richer, more resonant. And the thread of strain in it is much more evident as well, like it's harder for Gabriel to hide like this. Sam'll have to remember that. _/Cas said that my being near you might help you heal, somehow./_

 

 _/Castiel?/_ Weary surprise, amusement. _/Knew the moment he saw you, no doubt. No flies on that angel./_ Something like a sigh _. /Dad poured His thought in a bowl with grace and starstuff, hit it with the mixer, and out came us. He wanted a cheering section, so He built one. We were made, literally, to follow and adore Him. So love, in all of its forms, affects us. Or did, before…./_

 

From there, the leap is easy to make. _/So something like this, a bond, one on one…./_

 

 _/Strongest hit there is, unless you're getting it from the Host. Or the Source./_ Gabriel's sigh is audible this time, and he's caressing idle lines on Sam's back, waist to shoulders and back down. And Sam's never considered his back as an erogenous zone before, but he might have to rethink that, because Gabriel's touch is causing the beginnings of a tingle low in Sam's belly. He mirrors the motion, sweeping one hand up from Gabriel's hip to rub between the archangel's shoulderblades.

 

Gabriel breathes in, and a new thread colors the bond – fine and faint, but there. Arousal?

 

Why would that – oh. Oh.

 

Wings.

 

That's about where the joints of Gabriel's wings would be.

 

Wow.

 

Sam presses just a little harder, only a little, and Gabriel's breath pulls in again. He arches, pushing his back against Sam's hand. The thread quivers. "Gabriel?"

 

"Yes." The word is warm across Sam's skin, in his mind. _/Yes./_

 

Gabriel shifts, tiny movements but telling ones, as Sam brushes long strokes over his back, his shoulders, the hollow at his waist. Languid caresses of skin against skin as Gabriel moves, rubbing his face against Sam's throat, nudging a knee between Sam's thighs, dragging the top of his foot sluggishly up the curve of Sam's calf. 

 

It's slow, so slow, and unexpectedly delicious for that very slowness, and Sam lets himself sink into it and drift for a while. The arousal is there but it's unhurried, a steady glow beneath the simple joy of skin on skin. Sam's not sure he remembers the last time there was someone in his life who he could just _touch_ like this, for the caring and connection of it and maybe they'd get to the sweaty tango thing and maybe they wouldn't, because that isn't really the point.

 

 _/Not that I'd be opposed to the whole sweaty tango thing, you know, for the record,/_ Gabriel says lazily. He's planting slow kisses on Sam's neck, and Sam thinks he doesn't sound quite as strained as he did a little while ago.

 

_/Tell me you're not going to be reading my mind_ _**all** _ _the time, please?/_

 

_/I'm not reading it now, really. You're projecting at me, loud and clear. And weirdly good at it, too, for a human./_

 

Sam grins. / _I'm good at lots of things./_

 

_/Bragging, Sam? You? For shame. I'm appalled./_

 

 _/Uh-huh, I'm sure./_ "Besides," Sam murmurs, shifting until he can catch Gabriel's mouth with his own, "it's not bragging if you can back it up."

 

Fingers catch in Sam's hair and pull him back, and there's a bright, teasing look in Gabriel's eyes that Sam hasn't seen since this whole mess began. In fact, he's not sure he's ever seen it. "Prove it," Gabriel says, and there's "I dare you" written all over his face.

 

Resist that? Sam _is_ pretty much only human, when it comes right down to it.

 

He leans in and kisses Gabriel again, gently wrecks the pout of that mouth. Sam knows he's a good kisser and he uses that skill now, nudges and nibbles, licks Gabriel's mouth open and explores. He kisses Gabriel until they're both breathless with it, then he urges Gabriel gently over onto his back, looms over him, and does it all again.

 

When Sam lets him up this time, more because Sam needs to breathe than any other reason, Gabriel's eyes have gone from bright to hot. "Not bad," he says dryly, but Sam wouldn't believe the tone even if he couldn't feel the pleasure humming between them. 

 

Sam just smiles, the one he's been told is his "wicked" one, and applies his lips to the edge of Gabriel's jaw. The archangel's skin is smooth, beard growth obviously no match for awesome cosmic powers, and it's warm and faintly salty. Sam licks his way down over the long expanse of throat, along the tempting curve and into the deep hollow between collarbones. Salty here too, and something that might be rainwater and might just be angel, a sweet-tart taste that Sam has no word for. 

 

He likes it. 

 

He wants more. And he finds it over the tautness of tendons, so he opens his mouth and laves the spot with his tongue and – gently – bites down.

 

Gabriel _shudders_. His fingers dig into Sam's shoulders and then there it is, that sound, that little half-groan he'd made before. It vibrates beneath Sam's mouth and that is it. Sam's hooked.

 

His cock goes from "mmm, nice" to "oh _hell_ yes" in about five seconds, and he's nudging a leg between Gabriel's thighs and pressing down almost before he realizes it. The pressure is sweet and fantastic and it's Sam who groans now, his mouth still on Gabriel's neck, the curve where it melts into shoulder.

 

"Sam." 

 

Gabriel shifts and pushes and Sam's somehow between Gabriel's legs. Gabriel's thighs come up to press solidly against Sam's hips and Sam groans again, digging his fingers into the sheets. That's, that's Gabriel's erection, Gabriel's _cock_ , right there against his own. It's hot and hard and so damn good he can't even breathe for a second. But he can move. Hell, he almost can't _not_ and he does and he's panting, his mouth open against Gabriel's skin, eyes squeezed shut. It feels a shit-ton better than anything so simple ought to. "Gabriel. Oh, _fuck_."

 

"Works for me," Gabriel says hoarsely, amused and delighted, and Sam stutters out a laugh and shakes his head because somehow that's not – that's not it. Not what he wants, not now.

 

"No," he breathes, and keeps moving, rubbing them together in that simple, somehow perfectly right friction. He brings up a hand – his left hand – and licks his palm, then shifts up just enough to work it between them and Jesus fuck, he's never been so glad of his own size before as he wraps his long fingers around them both. The shudder feels like it comes up from his toes. Gabriel groans again, twitching under him, and Sam has to kiss him. "This," he pants against Gabriel's mouth, "just like this. Just let me, let me take care of you. Let me –"

 

_/Let me love you./_

 

Fingers pull at Sam's hair until their eyes meet. " _Sam_." That's all, just Sam's name, but everything's there in the current between them and the glow in Gabriel's eyes.

 

Sam kisses him as he strokes them together, drowning in Gabriel's mouth, in the pleasure that's far left and way above anything he's ever felt before. Gabriel's tongue is like the rest of him, sharp and clever and knowing and a little vicious, and he plunders Sam's mouth this time, thoroughly conquering all territory in reach and God, what would that feel like on the rest of Sam's body –

 

"You'll find out, I promise you," Gabriel growls, the sound falling into a moan as Sam pulls away to gasp, to lick at his neck again; writhing as Sam's fingers tighten around their cocks, stripping them faster. "I'm going to kiss you everywhere, every inch of your gorgeous skin. I'm going to _taste_ you everywhere. Your nipples and those beautiful hips and that sweet, tight ass –"

 

Sam jerks at that, he can't help it because fuck, yes, he's been with guys but nobody's ever –

 

"Oh, you _like_ that idea, don't you," Gabriel croons, his own hips jerking under Sam's weight. "Thinking about having my tongue in your ass, pulling you apart and licking, tasting you _right there_ – nobody's ever done that to you, have they? But I will. My mouth around your cock and under your balls and then I'm going to push your hips up and spread you open and –"

 

Fingers tighten in Sam's hair and he's moaning, riding his fist and Gabriel's skin, slick with sweat and precome and maybe mojoed lube, he doesn't know and doesn't care, it's so good, too good. He's shaking now, hips and hand jerking hard as the pressure builds like wildfire between his legs, in his belly, lighting up his spine and God, Gabriel's pushing back against him and _still_ _talking_ , all the filthy, fantastic things he's going to do to Sam and pressing Sam's face against his shoulder and "Yes, that's it, don't look, Sam, shut your eyes, _shut_ _–"_

 

Gabriel goes rigid beneath him and a new wet heat paints Sam's stomach, but it's lost beneath the ecstasy that slams into Sam's brain. Gabriel. He's _feeling Gabriel come_ and there's no fighting it, only surrender to the rapture and light that race across his skin, shred him and turn him inside out, his own orgasm dragged out of him like an afterthought as it all goes white.

 

Sam drifts in the afterglow for years, Gabriel warm under him. There's an arm around his waist and fingers at his nape, and the most beautiful melody he's ever heard singing wordlessly in the back of his mind. His face is wet, he slowly realizes, and he can't care. The joy beneath his skin makes him finally crack his eyes open to see if he's actually glowing. If he were to die in the next five minutes, he'd go happy, because he finally, finally understands.

 

_/Well,_ _**I** _ _wouldn't be happy about it. We just got here. I'm not_ _**done** _ _with you yet./_

 

Sam snorts. _/Only you could manage to sound blissed out and peeved all at the same time./_

 

Gabriel shrugs. / _Sheer talent./_

 

Sam laughs, a little unsteadily, and wipes at his eyes before he turns his head to kiss the skin beneath his cheek.

 

_/The tears weren't strictly necessary, you know. I'm aware that I'm awesome./_

 

Sam thumps him on the ribs, because the Trickster will always tease, and somehow that's okay now. "Hey, how are you feeling?" he asks and winches himself up on one elbow to look because emotion-sharing bond and the love affecting angels thing aside, Sam's pretty sure that one bout of the horizontal tango isn't going to do the – "Oh."

 

"Sam?" Gabriel stills, following Sam's gaze, then relaxes again. "Ah. Had your horizons expanded, eh?"

 

"Uhm, yeah? Wow." Sam swallows, staring at the fuck-off huge wings sharing the bed space with them. They're splayed out high and wide, copper and gold shimmering against the snow-white sheets, and Sam's only missed laying on the left one by about six inches and okay, yeah, the size of the mattress makes sense now. "This – isn't like before, on the balcony, is it? When you were showing them deliberately? So how am I seeing them now?"

 

"You've just had half an ocean's worth of grace pour through you again, Sambo. Add that to the bond, and I'm not surprised there are side effects." 

 

Sam catches the undertone. "But you don't know for sure?"

 

Gabriel shrugs again and his right wing shifts as well, throwing a million fractures of light. It's mesmerizing. "It's been millennia and a paradigm shift since anything like this last happened. There's not exactly a manual."

 

The feathers still look like things carved from topaz and ruby and citrine, but they ruffle in the slightest breath of air and Sam reaches without thinking, fascinated. And then catches himself. "Wow. Sorry. Can I –"

 

"I don't know, can you?" Gabriel says. His eyes are warm and possibly nervous, but he doesn't move, and Sam reaches again. 

 

 _Soft_ is Sam's first thought as his fingers make contact. Soft but not, like dipping his fingers into a living electric pool, and he's perfectly aware that the analogy doesn't make a fuck's worth of sense. He'll think about it later though, when his brain isn't completely swamped with the reality that he's touching Gabriel.

 

" _Oh_." Gabriel sucks in a sharp breath and Sam looks up. Gabriel's eyes are half-closed, his face gone slack, mouth open, and – 

 

Dear God, he's touching _Gabriel_. _Him_ , not the body, the vessel, or whatever it is that Gabriel's wearing, but _Gabriel_ _himself._ "Gabriel?"

 

"That's – new," Gabriel says, and swallows.

 

"New how?" Sam's not going to panic, he's not.

 

"New because nothing's ever, not since –" He swallows again, amber eyes opening wide. "You shouldn't be able to do that."

 

"Because it's _you_ I'm touching, right? _You_ -you."

 

" _Me_ -me? You've got such a way with those big words, Sam." But his eyes are hazing over, closing again.

 

Sam's stroking, he realizes, almost unconsciously; tiny movements that are burrowing his fingers further into Gabriel's feathers, soft-hot-cold-tingle-hum.

 

_/…close as you can get wearing skin…./_

 

"Gabriel?"

 

"Don't stop," Gabriel whispers, and there's something so naked there, so real, so – _yearning_ , that Sam almost can't stand it. / _Don't stop_./

 

#

 

The ringtone is irritating as hell, even though Sam had programmed that particular one to be softer. Doesn't matter much when it's dragging him out of the most comfortable doze he's had in years, though. He gropes for the phone, groans when he realizes that it's in the pocket of his jeans. Which are all the way over there. 

 

Crap, that means he's got to move.

 

"Ignore it," Gabriel mumbles, breath hot against Sam's shoulder.

 

"It's Dean." A put-upon sigh, and then there's plastic unexpectedly filling Sam's hand. "Thanks."

 

/ _Ye-ah, say that again after the call_./

 

Sam snorts, cracking one eye open long enough to find the right key. "Yeah."

 

"Sam." His brother's voice is flat. "Where the hell are you?"

 

"Couple of floors up from our room." He's not going to say how many. "'m fine, Dean."

 

"Y'don't sound fine."

 

"I was _asleep_."

 

A pause. "With Gabriel."

 

Sam smiles. "With Gabriel."

 

A longer pause, and then a long, drawn-out shove of air. "The fuck d'you think you're doing, Sam?"

 

Sam shoves back the instinctive surge of anger that that tone of his brother's always triggers, and stares up at the ceiling. Gabriel is warm and still beside him. He'd bring up a hand to rub at his eyes, but one is holding the phone and Gabriel's using the other arm as a pillow and Sam's in no rush to dislodge him. "The same thing you should be doing, Dean," because really, what the hell. If they're gonna have this talk, might as well go for broke. "Only, y'know, with Cas."

 

There's an odd squeaky noise from Dean's end. " _What_?!" Dean practically sputters, finally, and Sam rolls his eyes.

 

"Oh, come _on_ , Dean," he says, trying to keep his voice gentle. "I know you're not _that_ thick."

 

"We are _not_ having _that_ talk, Sam," Dean grates out after a minute, low and hard, and that's as good as a confession right there; maybe better. "We're not talking about _me_. We are talking about _your_ history of _not-so-good_ decisions, dude."

 

Sam grits his teeth. Gabriel doesn't move, but he's a steady warmth in the back of Sam's mind and a deep certainty wrapped around Sam's bones, and Sam takes a slow breath and manages to relax. "Then we're not talking about it at all. Dean, I didn't ask for this, but it's the best thing that's happened to me in years. Possibly ever."

 

"Sam –"

 

"Talk to Cas, all right? Please? Just – talk to Cas about it. And then we'll talk." _Dean, please. My track record's shitty, I_ _ **know**_ _that, but please. Trust me._

 

The sound of breathing, and Sam's betting a fifty that he knows the face his brother is making – jaw set, eyes hard. "Breakfast in – two hours, Sam," Dean says finally. "Downstairs." And ends the call.

 

Sam blows out a breath and drops the phone on the mattress beside him. He does rub his eyes now.

 

Gabriel's weight shifts, and when Sam drops his hand, there's an archangel on his chest, looking down at him. There's soft light in the room from somewhere, and it's turning Gabriel's hair into a messy crown of antique gold, framed by the copper curves of his folded wings. Sam's mouth goes dry.

 

"So," Gabriel says. "Best thing, huh?"

 

Sam runs a hand up Gabriel's arm and shoulder, brushing fingertips into the deep hollow between Gabriel's collarbones. "Yeah. I think you really are."

 

"Sam." Something in Gabriel's voice brings Sam's eyes back to his. "Don't kid yourself. Everything I said earlier was true. I am bigger than you can possibly comprehend. I am ancient and I'm not kind." 

 

"I was my Father's Message upon the earth, and His Justice and Judgment." There's a thread of power now running beneath Gabriel's voice, thickening the air in the room. "And then I was my own judgment, and I've spent millennia now amusing myself by teaching a lesson to any jackass I decided needed one, so don't think I'm your savior. 

 

"I am not kind, Samuel. And I am not human."

 

The truth of it hums across the bond like an electric charge, immense and powerful. "I know," Sam says, and his mouth is still dry and his heart's beating too fast. "As much as I can, I know what you are." And he does.

 

He knows the mocking sting of the Trickster and the alien, untouchable brilliance of the Archangel. He's also full to his marrow with the vast, warm touch of this being older than time, a touch full of a want and a love for him – _him_ , Sam Winchester – that's far past anything he understands.

 

Sam brings both hands up now to curve over Gabriel's cheekbones, the fox-sharp face and the golden eyes. "I wasn't looking for a savior, and I don't want kind. I want you."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Be My Savior  
> Author: jesse  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Genre: Hurt/comfort, slash, binding/bonding fic, wingfic, AU  
> Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, background Dean/Castiel UST  
> Spoilers: not unless you missed the whole Gabriel thing  
> Warnings: Angel abuse and Winchester angst  
> Disclaimer: It's Kripke's sandbox, I only play and run away  
> Word Count: ~12,000
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Set somewhere in S5, goes AU somewhere between 5.08 and 5.19. Many thanks to cageyklio for awesome beta stuff and pointing out early on where things weren't working, and also to samjohnsson for equally awesome beta stuff; any remaining weirdness is completely my own fault. And last but never least, to my darling morganoconner for never giving up on me. The first section of this story was posted ages ago on comment_fic.
> 
> UPDATE MAY 2013: This story has been podficced by the lovely kalakirya! :-D  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/782846


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